


Ancient Goddesses, Angry Fathers, and Overzealous Ghosts: Three Good Reasons Why Derek Hale Needs a Really Strong Drink

by Vengeful_Authoress



Series: Badly Kept Secrets and Convoluted Hunts: A Saga by the Beacon Hills Pack [3]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A Resurrection Gone Bad, Awkward Family Outings, BAMF Stiles, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Boys and their Cars, Crackshot Stiles, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Full Banshee Power Lydia, Full Power Cas, M/M, Magic, Multi, Multiverse Theory, Nerd Dean, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Overprotective Fathers, flirtatious dean, ghost hunts, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13616349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vengeful_Authoress/pseuds/Vengeful_Authoress
Summary: The empusa might be dealt with, but the Beacon Hills Pack's troubles are far from over. Chris Argent hunts the Winchester brothers for all the wrongs he believes they've done, Erica is AWOL somewhere in the woods, and unbeknownst to them, Dean and Cas's travels through the Nemeton Tree have brought a new entity to their world who has her own plans for the town.





	1. Calm Days are Here at Last

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, guys! Welcome to the sequel! Very exciting, right? I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story this far - it really means so much to me, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story. Also side note - I don't know anything about guns so please forgive any inaccuracies.

“I don’t like this,” Derek says, arms crossed.

“You don’t like anything,” Stiles points out.

It’s been a week since the showdown with the empusa – and Boyd’s funeral. It has not been a good week, Stiles has to say. Erica has disappeared. She jumped Cora and beat her up a little bit, then disappeared into the forest without her phone. The whole Pack has been searching for her but to no avail. And they’ve seen Chris Argent lurking around, holding one of his very large, imposing guns, glaring at the Winchester brothers. Derek has been making sure that a member of the Pack is with them at all times.

So yes. It has been a tough and stressful week. Which is why Derek, Stiles, and Dean are out in the woods with Dean’s freshly repaired Impala and its trunk full of guns.

“You’ll shoot your eye out,” Derek says.

Stiles punches him in the arm. “That’s the line from A Christmas Story.”

“Fine. Then you’ll shoot yourself in the foot.”

Dean examines one of his pistols to make sure it’s clean and unjammed. He’s changed out of his sequined flapper dresses for the most part, though he still has a black boa looped around his neck, and there’s glitter in his hair because it won’t come out no matter how much he showers. “Derek, I promise it will be fine. I know what I’m doing – I’ll make sure he’s safe, and Stiles is the sheriff’s son; he’s been around guns his whole life.”

Stiles nods sagely. “This is true.”

“I just thought he could do some target practice, get a little more comfortable around them,” Dean continues. “Here, give this one a try.” He hands the pistol to Stiles.

They’ve set up a target by pinning a picture of a screaming Donald Trump to a tree, and Stiles takes the stance his father taught him long ago. He squeezes off twelve shots, the retorts echoing through the trees, and when he’s done, Trump’s face is riddled with holes.

Derek and Dean stare at him with open mouths. “Holy shit,” Dean says.

“You got anything bigger?” Stiles asks, grinning, his whole body tingling.

Dean takes the pistol back in exchange for a double barreled shotgun. Derek just sighs and takes a step back. Stiles cackles as he fires the gun, the force of the recoil nearly forcing him back a step. Derek takes the shotgun from him as soon as he’s done, a vaguely worried expression on his face. “Maybe not that one.”

Stiles goes to rifle through the Impala’s trunk which is full of knives and machetes, enough guns to supply a large army, and a bunch of weird, miscellaneous, magical doo-dads. He spots a large, black case near the back and grabs the handle to drag it closer. “What’s this?”

“Uh, maybe not…” Dean begins.

But it’s too late. Stiles has already undone the clasps and flipped the lid open. His jaw drops. A high powered sniper rifle lies nestled inside the black foam, the oil gleaming in the sunlight. “Maybe not this one?” Dean says even as Stiles pulls the first piece out.

“Show me how to put it together?”

People have never been able to say ‘no’ to Stiles. It has something to do with how big he can make his eyes and how he can fold his lips down into just the right kind of pout.

So Dean finds himself assembling the rifle before he even knows he’s doing it.

“Where did you even get a sniper rifle?” Derek asks. He’s put a tree between himself and the gun.

“National Guard armory.” Dean clicks the pieces into place, his hands moving deftly over all the small parts.

Derek gives him a flat look. “You stole it.”

“Dude, Sam and I have been on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, like, three times. We can’t just go waltzing into a gun store.”

Dean passes the assembled rifle over with a little bit of worry on his face, so Stiles takes it with as much care as he can. There’s a short hill not far from where they’re parked, and Stiles hikes up it, laying himself down with the rifle as Dean sets up a can on top of a tree stump. Stiles lines up the crosshairs of the scope. He breathes out slowly then pulls the trigger. A loud bang echoes through the forest, and the can leaps off the stump. “Woo!” Stiles yells.

In the books Stiles has read, the hero always picks up their weapon and miraculously realizes that this is it; they’re a natural at this; the weapon feels right in their hands. Stiles always thought it was a load of bullshit. But goddamn, if this rifle doesn’t feel _right_ in his hands.

“Move it back!” he calls.

Dean grabs the can off the ground and runs it back through the trees as instructed. Stiles waits until he’s well out of the way before lining the can up in the crosshairs again and taking the next shot. Through the scope, he watches the can leap to its death. He cheers again. Dean whoops in reply and pumps his fists in the air.

Stiles clicks the safety off before he clambers up and jogs down the hill to rejoin the other two. Derek makes a beeline towards him. “Dean, I’m going to make out with my boyfriend now,” Derek says.

“No problem. I’ll be waiting in the car,” Dean replies.

As soon as he hears he car door slam, Stiles jumps Derek, slinging the rifle strap over his shoulder so he can wrap his arms around Derek’s neck and his legs around Derek’s waist.

Stiles will never get tired of making out with Derek. Goddamn, it’s the best thing ever. Derek and Stiles, it’s like they were made out of the same clay. It’s like that Greek myth – where Zeus split humankind in half, and now each half searches constantly for its other part. Stiles thinks he and Derek are two parts of that severed whole.

It’s cheesy and cliché, he knows that, but he likes to think that way anyways.

Derek and Stiles climb all over each other until Dean honks the horn a couple of times. “Let’s go, lovebirds! I’m hungry!”

The two of them break apart, and Stiles looks at the Impala to see Dean leaning out the window and rolling his eyes. Stiles disassembles the rifle and puts it back in its case before climbing into the front seat, forcing Derek into the back.

Dean revs the engine and drives off, Led Zeppelin blasting from the cassette player. Stiles still can’t believe he has an actual cassette player in his car – what is this, the 90s? As they roll down the gravel road out of Beacon Hills Preserve and back onto the road, Stiles sees a red SUV, Chris Argent leaning beside the open driver’s door, holding a crossbow.

“I’m going to have to deal with that soon,” Dean says, eyeballing Chris.

Chris Argent knows all about the Winchesters and their exploits, but rather than focus on how many times they’ve saved the world, Chris thinks the brothers will inevitably cause the painful deaths of everyone around them. It’s made for some awkward family dinners between him and Allison. Two days after Boyd’s funeral, she moved out of the Argent house and in with Scott.

“It’s always something with that man,” Derek sighs.

Luckily, Chris doesn’t follow them as they drive away.

“So, man, how are things going with you and Cas?” Stiles asks Dean, pulling his legs up onto the seat and crossing them beneath him.

Dean looks over at him with a sly grin on his face, eyebrows waggling. “We had sex the other night.”

“Ahh-woo!” Stiles yells and gives Dean a slap on the arm. “Good for you, man! How was it?”

Dean and Stiles have no boundaries anymore, not after Dean got Stiles high on his weird parallel world drugs, and they spent twelve hours sitting on the roof of the Hale house, talking about the secrets of the Universe. Which they promptly forgot once they came down, but the feeling remained.

“Dude, it was awesome. Sex with an angel – holy shit, fucking unbelievable.”

“Nice,” Stiles says with a grin over the sound of a muffled groan from the back.

The speedometer eeks up to eighty-five. “And how about you and Derek?” Dean asks with another eyebrow wiggle.

Stiles licks his lips. “Sex with a werewolf is incredible. Like wow – this man knows where to put it.” He thumbs his finger over his shoulder at Derek, and the werewolf chokes slightly.

“We both scored.” Dean holds his hand out for a fist bump, and Stiles knocks their knuckles together.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Stiles says, twisting around in his seat to look at Derek, “my dad wants you to come over for dinner tonight.”

In this case, ‘my dad wants’ means ‘my dead orders.’ Sheriff Stilinski and Derek haven’t seen each other since Stiles and Derek started dating. Stiles is…a little nervous. After all, Derek and Stiles had a rocky start to their acquaintanceship, what with Stiles getting Derek arrested for murder a couple of times, and Derek essentially kidnapping Stiles in order to get his help back in the early days before they trusted each other.

Dean drives back to the Hale house, going well over ninety, even around the tight corners. The cops have basically given up trying to pull the Impala over; they know that Dean will just set the ticket on fire with his lighter and go back to speeding like he always does. And it helps that he’s friends with the sheriff’s son.

Dean pulls up the driveway and hits the brakes at the last second, like he always does, right before the front end of the car slams into the porch. He and Derek have a competition going to see who can get the closest.

Stiles hops out of the Impala to check the score, eyeballing the deep lines dug into the dirt, marked with either an I or a C. “Nope,” he says from where he’s crouched. “Derek’s still ahead.”

“Damnit!” Dean yells over the sound Derek’s laughter.

“I am the king. You’ll never beat me,” Derek says.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles.

The three of them trundle into the house and then the living room. Sam, Lydia, and Cora are the only ones there, watching television, Sam with his arm around Lydia while Cora sits with her knees drawn up to her chest.

“Aw, look at you two cuddlebugs,” Dean coos, dropping to the couch beside his brother. “You’re so cute.”

“Dude, come on,” Sam says as he gives Dean a glare. “I don’t make fun of you when you drape yourself across Cas’s lap.”

A self-satisfied smile crosses Dean’s face. “Where is Cas, anyways?”

“He left about an hour ago. Didn’t say way,” Sam answers.

“We should get ready,” Stiles says to Derek, stealing a few pretzels out of Cora’s bowl. “Dinner is in an hour.”

Derek nods and follows Stiles up the stairs. Stiles makes sure to wiggle his ass a little bit, and when he glances over his shoulder, Derek has a small grin of appreciation on his face.

Derek takes a shower while Stiles shaves – cue comments of ‘why do you even need to shave, babyface?’ – and then they both get dressed in decently nice clothes. For Stiles, this means a clean, plaid shirt and pair of jeans, but Derek actually puts a little effort into it, rolling up the sleeves of his dark green dress shirt. Goddamn, the color sets off his eyes. Stiles wants to jump his bones right then and there, and he licks his lips. Derek notices, quirking an eyebrow up.

“Better not,” Stiles sighs. “We spent so much time doing our hair.”

Derek pouts a little.

They take the Camaro to Stiles’ house and arrive perfectly on time, Stiles carrying a bottle of wine and a salad in his arms as he climbs out of the car. “I’m nervous,” Derek admits. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“It’ll be fine.” Stiles would pat Derek’s arm if his hands weren’t full. “You already know my dad.”

“Yeah, but does he like me very much?”

They walk towards the door, and Stiles swears Derek is dragging his feet. “He’s not going to hold any past misunderstandings against you, okay?” Stiles says, stopping on the porch to face Derek fully. “Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” He leans forward to give Derek a quick peck on the lips.

Derek nods, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door.

“It’s open!” Sheriff Stilinski yells. He’s probably in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner.

Derek opens the door, waving Stiles through first, and they both take their shoes off in the entrance hall before heading deeper into the house. As it turns out, Sheriff Stilinski is not in the kitchen, finishing dinner. He is sitting at the dining table. Reassembling his largest shotgun after cleaning it.

Derek blanches and freezes in the hallway.

“Dad, what the fuck!” Stiles yelps.

The sheriff clicks the last piece into place but doesn’t put the gun down, letting it dangle from his fingers as he stares Derek down.

“Dad!” Stiles snaps again, stamping his foot. “Put the gun down!” He stomps to the dining table and slams the wine and salad down, snatching the weapon away from his father. He’s pleased to see that at least the thing isn’t loaded. “You’re the worst.”

His father booms out a laugh and ruffles Stiles’ hair. “You two take a seat,” he says. “I’ll go get dinner.”

As Sheriff Stilinski stands up from the table and heads into the kitchen, Stiles has to walk back down the hallway, grab Derek’s hand, and forcibly drag him to the table. “Your dad’s going to give me a heart attack,” Derek whispers.

“Don’t be a baby,” Stiles tells him.

Sheriff Stilinski comes back with a plate piled high with burgers, buns, and toppings, a large back of potato chips on the side. Stiles pours the wine then serves himself, loading up a burger with bacon, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. He can barely fit his mouth around the finished product.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to thank you yet for dealing with that – what was it again? An empusa?” the sheriff says.

Derek nods. “I’m glad it’s finally over. Though I definitely could have done without the house of horrors at the end.” He shivers and rubs at the back of his neck.

Stiles focuses on his burger, feeling sick to his stomach. He hasn’t even told Derek what the empusa’s glamor made him see, though some of the other Packmates have discussed their visions at length. One quiet night, Derek told Stiles all about seeing Stiles’ dead body and being unable to do anything about it, his feet stuck in the mud, and then he looked at Stiles as if waiting to hear his story, but Stiles just stared at him for a moment – throat closed up – then distracted him with a kiss.

Stiles forces out a laugh. “Maybe we can have a normal, boring rest of the summer,” he says. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“One can hope,” Derek agrees. He doesn’t sound like he believes it.

“More wine, Derek?” Sheriff Stilinski asks, holding out the bottle. Derek nods at him and smiles, so the sheriff refills his glass. He doesn’t even make a quip about whether or not Derek is driving. Which Stiles supposes is only because Derek is a werewolf and can’t get drunk unless is cocktail is laced with wolfsbane.

Dinner goes smoothly, and for that, Stiles is grateful. He just wants his dad to approve of him and Derek, considering their past. If his dad decides he doesn’t like something, then he _really_ doesn’t like it, and that would be no fun at all for Stiles and Derek’s dating life. Neither of them mention the little target practice session they had in the woods with Dean earlier in the day. That Sheriff Stilinski would most definitely not like.

After dessert – triple chunk brownies and ice cream – Sheriff Stilinski pulls out Scrabble. Like a rabbit out of a trap, Stiles lunges from his chair, dragging Derek up after him. “No. No, no, no, Dad,” Stiles says. “We’re not playing that. We’ll be here until two a.m. what with your nitpicking and never-ending deliberation.”

“Rain check, Sheriff,” Derek says as Stiles drags him down the hall.

Stiles’ dad lifts his wineglass. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Rain check?” Stiles hisses to Derek once they’re at the door, dragging his Converse on. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve locked us into a _Scrabble date with my dad_.”

“Sounds like fun,” Derek says.

“I hate you.”

Stiles herds Derek out the door before he can set the two of them up to do any more boring activities with his dad. “Get in the car,” he orders.

“Yes, sir,” Derek quips, smirking.

Stiles could smack him – or make out with him. It’s really a toss-up. Unfortunately, by this time, Derek has put the car in reverse and started backing down the driveway, so Stiles can’t do either.

Stiles’ phone buzzes, and he digs it awkwardly from his pocket. There’s a text from Dean in the Pack group chat (Stiles added him and Sam to the chat during the Elena debacle). “ _cora and i have decided that tonight is movie night bee-yotches! be there or be square!”_ The message is followed by a series of inscrutable emojis, none of which have anything to do with movies.

 

Book Nerd (8:07PM): We’re starting at 9.

Book Nerd (8:07PM): Since Dean forgot to mention that.

Gay Gunslinger (8:08PM): i was getting there!

Devil Wears Prada (8:09PM): I vote Mulan

Horny Baseball Bat (8:11PM): derek and i will get snacks! 

 

“Grocery store pit stop,” Stiles tells Derek, dropping his phone to his lap.

“Alright,” Derek agrees and makes a hairpin turn that throws Stiles into the car wall. They park as close to the store as they can get when they arrive, and Stiles grabs the cloth bags he has stashed in Derek’s backseat.

Derek and Stiles stock up – really go all out. Multiple flavors of ice cream, large bags of M&Ms (normal, caramel, pretzels), gummy worms, Twizzlers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, pretzels, several types of chips, popcorn, and Stiles even drops a sheet cake into the cart. Derek gives him a bit of a look over that one but doesn’t say anything.

Stiles can’t tell if the cashier ringing them up is judging them or if she’s jealous of them. “Movie night,” Stiles feels obligated to say. “There are ten of us.”

“Nice,” the girl says with a cursory grin. Ah. She doesn’t actually care.

Derek and Stiles load up the reusable bags – “I can’t believe you got a fucking cake” – and lug it all back out to the Camaro.

 

Horny Baseball Bat (8:41PM): we have booze right?

Lip Gloss and Stiletto Knives (8:41PM): Of course we fucking have booze

Gay Gunslinger (8:43PM): and drugs!

Book Nerd (8:44PM): No.

Gay Gunslinger (8:45PM): buzzkill (bee emoji, gun emoji, skull emoji)

 

This last message arrives as Derek slams on the brakes and skids across the gravel driveway towards their house. Stiles flinches back and presses his hand against the dash, but the car stops before it hits the porch. He hops out to check the marks. “Nope. No new record.”

“Oh, come on.” Derek slams his car door. “I thought that one was a winner for sure.”

Laden with snack food, Derek and Stiles enter the house. They’re mobbed immediately, the food disappearing from their hands and into the living room. “Hello to you too!” Stiles yells after them.

Derek and Stiles amble into the living room and wedge themselves in among the couches and the rest of the Pack. Erica is not there, but then, Stiles didn’t expect her to be. The cake is already partially devoured, and Stiles grabs a fork to get in on the action before it’s all gone.

As Scott is untangling himself from Allison and Isaac to grab the remote, Cas appears amid the sound of rustling feathers, directly behind where Dean sits. He appears to be holding half a flower store. These he offers to Dean who stares up at him in bafflement. “Cas, what the hell are these?”

“Flowers,” Cas says. “Isn’t flower giving a typical human courting rite?”

“Y-yes,” Dean stutters. “I guess.”

“Do you like them?”

“Yeah, Cas, they’re lovely.”

Indeed, they are – Cas has impeccable taste.

The angel arranges the flowers around the room – they take up every surface – and Scott starts the movie. It’s not long until Stiles is absolutely stuffed and feeling almost a little sick, and he turns to weaving the flowers into crowns, his fingers nimble over the stems and petals. Derek gets the first one, Dean the second, and it’s not long before the entire Pack is bedecked in flowers.

Of course, they sing along to all the songs in the movie. You can’t watch Mulan and _not_ sing along, especially when it comes to “I’ll Make a Man Out of You,” all of them competing to see who can sing the loudest and most dramatically. If Erica were here, she would win. She always wins. But she’s not, so the prize goes to Dean who has gotten rather drunk already, curled up against Cas.

After Mulan, it’s on to Moana and then to Tangled, and by then, the Pack has started to drop off one by one until only Dean, Cas, Stiles, and Derek are left, and Stiles is realizing that trying to match Dean drink for drink was a very bad idea. The whole room is now oddly shaped, and Stiles is not totally sure if he’s awake or not. He checks his hand. Five fingers. That’s good.

“Bobby thinks we should leave,” Dean says. His head lolls against the back of the couch. “He says the crisis is over now, and there are other monsters in other parts of the country for us to fight.”

“No, don’t go.” Stiles falls across Dean’s lap as if the man is about to get up and leave right now.

“Don’t want to,” Dean says.

“So stay,” Derek suggests. “Make this your base. There will always be weird shit going on in this stupid town, and you can always take a trip somewhere else if you find a case.”

Dean looks at him from underneath four flower crowns. “That’s a damn good idea. You’re pretty smart, man. Maybe I’ll steal you away from Stiles.” Cas coughs pointedly. “Oh right. Ethical non-monogamy?” He’s very drunk.

“My smarts are why I’m the Alpha,” Derek says.

“Dude, you’re like the dumbest person I know,” Stiles says, punching Derek and laughing.

“Shut up.”

Cas leans over and whispers something in Dean’s ear, and Dean goes stock still, a grin spreading across his face. “Cas and I are going to bed now,” he says, too loudly.

Stiles dissolves into giggles, Derek’s chest rumbling with laughter beneath him. “Get it!” Stiles yells as Dean and Cas practically run for the stairs, Dean leaping over Scott’s prone body. Once they’ve disappeared, Stiles climbs to his knees and turns to face Derek, climbing on top of him. “Shall we take a leaf out of their book?”

Derek grins and seizes Stiles’ hips, bearing him away from the rest of the slumbering Pack.

* * *

 

The woman sits on a log deep within Beacon Hills Preserve, focusing all her energy on re-growing her body. It’s taking longer than she would like. She’s just got a thin layer of sinew and tendon over bone right now. It’s something about the air in this world; there’s magic and power, but it’s different from what she’s used to, and she hasn’t quite figured out how to harness it properly.

It’s frustrating because she doesn’t have much time to enact her plan. One day, maybe two – that’s how long she thought it would take, but instead, it’s been a week, and she’s hardly made any progress. She lifts a hand and watches tendons crawl over the stark bone, weaving into the proper shape. When she clenches her fist, the new muscles stretch painfully.

She needs to find a way to jumpstart the progress. It won’t do for her to miss her deadline.


	2. McCall Family Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, a new chapter. Finally. Sorry. Guess I got a little stuck. I feel like I had more things planned for this chapter, but I don't entirely remember them or feel inclined to search for them. I don't really do quiet chapters all that well, if you can't tell. But here it is. A new chapter. At long last. Not sure when the next one will come. Most of July and all of August are going to be really busy for me, and in August, I'll be in China and I'm not sure what kind of Internet I'll have access to. So enjoy this kind of meh chapter until I can get back to you with something more exciting.

“No.”

“Scott, come on.” Melissa gives him an exasperated look as she sorts through the dusty bin she pulled out of the basement.

“ _No_ , Mom.” Scott folds his arms and pouts.

“This isn’t a discussion.”

“I’m not going on a camping trip with you and Crowley!”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter. Go upstairs and pack some clothes.”

Scott huffs, wrinkles his nose, sighs again, but hops down from the counter and plods upstairs, dragging his feet the whole way, making sure to stomp up the steps and slam the door behind him.

“Gus will be here in an hour to pick us up!” Melissa calls.

Scott flops down on his bed rather than doing as his mother instructed. He pulls out his phone and texts the Pack group chat.

 

Puppy Dog Eyes (10:21AM): Please tell me there’s some kind of dire Pack emergency that requires my immediate attention and will hold said attention for the rest of the weekend?

Horny Baseball Bat (10:22AM): no why?

Puppy Dog Eyes (10:22AM): Mom is making me go on a camping trip with her and Crowley.

Horny Baseball Bat (10:23AM): HA

Horny Baseball Bat (10:23AM: i’ll go with you if you want. or take your place.

Puppy Dog Eyes (10:24AM): She won’t even let me bring Allison or Isaac! Said it was family only.

Katniss Everdeen (10:25AM): I thought I counted as family.

Horny Baseball Bat (10:26AM): sorry bro everything’s quiet

Gay Gunslinger (10:27AM): don’t listen to anything crowley says about sam and me he likes to make shit up

Puppy Dog Eyes (10:28AM): Fuuuuuuck. Okay fine I have to go pack.

Horny Baseball Bat (10:28AM): have fun lmao

Scott drops his phone on his face with a groan. Where’s a good supernatural crisis when you need one? But there’s nothing he can do about it, so he rolls off his bed and drags a duffel from his closet, shoving clothes inside, then he heads back downstairs to help Melissa sort through their dusty camping supplies and figure out what still works and what doesn’t. Most of the stuff is either rusted or moth eaten.

Crowley rolls up in a black Cadillac with a growling engine at exactly 11:30 and knocks on the door. Scott tries not to gag as Melissa flings her arms around him and gives him a kiss. Crowley is still dressed in one of his black suits and his long coat.

“You’re wearing that camping?” Scott ask, leaning against the counter with his arms folded.

“I don’t do outdoors clothes,” Crowley drawls. He flicks an invisible speck of dirt from his sleeve.

Scott raises an eyebrow at him.

“Scott, help me take everything out to the car,” Melissa says, stooping to grab one end of the big gear box, but Crowley snaps his fingers, and everything disappears.

“All taken care of,” he says with a smirk.

Melissa giggles and smacks Crowley in the chest. “Oh, you’re very useful.”

“I aim to please.”

Scott fake gags. Melissa glares at him for a moment.

Crowley leads the way out to his car, holding Melissa’s hand, and Scott trails along behind them, arms still folded firmly across his chest. He, of course, gets shunted into the backseat, which in the Cadillac means that his legs are squashed up to his chest, and there aren’t any seatbelts. Melissa suggested that they take her car since it’s larger, roomier, and more suited to the terrain, but no, Crowley has to travel in style.

The campground is one Scott and Melissa used to go to a lot, back when Scott’s dad was around, before Melissa got super busy at the hospital, and before Scott became a werewolf and a walking magnet for trouble.

Okay, maybe he was a walking trouble magnet even before the bite.

No, that was definitely Stiles.

The two-hour car ride is absolute torture for Scott. Melissa and Crowley sit in the front, talking and laughing, and Melissa has her hand on Crowley’s thigh which Scott does not need or want to see. Yes, of course he wants his mom to be happy, but the _King of Hell_? That sounds like a recipe for heartbreak.

Crowley parks by their campsite, and Scott tumbles gratefully from the car, wondering if either of the adults will notice if he tries to sidle off into the trees. “Don’t even think about it,” Melissa says before he’s taken a step. Scott sighs. Sometimes he thinks she’s psychic. So he pops the trunk instead, reaching down to grab two of their bags.

“Allow me,” Crowley says, preparing to snap his fingers.

“No.” Melissa cuts him off. “That defeats the point of camping. We set it up by hand. Scott, help Gus with the tents.”

Scott knows better than to argue. He digs out the two tent sacks and passes one to Crowley, leading the way to the flattest patch of land where the grass has been worn away by all the other tents over the years. “Have you ever set up a tent before?” he asks as he drops his bags.

Crowley gives him a flat look. “Do I look like I’ve ever set up a tent?”

“Right, um, well, it’s pretty easy.” Scott begins to pull out the poles and stakes. “You shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“I could have this all set up in a second,” Crowley points out, staring down at his tent bag with a curled lip but making no move to unpack it.

“Not everything can or should be done with magic,” Scott says.

“I disagree with that.”

“Why? Because it’s easy?”

Crowley blinks languidly, seeming to not hear the sharp bite in Scott’s voice. “Yes.”

Scott throws down the pole he’s been stringing together and spins to face Crowley fully. “Is that what you’re going to do when things get hard with my mom? Just magic all the unpleasantness away? Or better yet just disappear? Sam and Dean say you’re _really_ good at that.”

Crowley has fallen silent, staring at Scott with almost an unguarded look in his eyes, but Scott doesn’t give him a chance to respond, turning sharply on his heel and bounding into the trees.

He runs for a long time, finally breaking out of the trees that surround the lake the park is named after. He skids to a halt, the sand spraying up around his heels. The water glitters blue in the sunlight, and the wind creates tiny waves on the surface. Scott slips his shoes off and sits down on the lake’s edge so that the water can lap up over his toes.

“Impressive blowout,” Crowley says beside him.

Scott jumps a mile into the air and jerks his head around. “What the hell man?”

Crowley stands beside him, hands clasped behind his back, looking out across the water like he’s in some kind of pretentious Renaissance oil painting.

“You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” Scott scrambles to his feet because he doesn’t like the way Crowley towers over him.

“I thought it was impossible to sneak up on you, what with your werewolf abilities,” Crowley says. He doesn’t look at Scott, but Scott can still see the outline of a smirk on his face.

Scott tries to calm his racing heart, taking deep breathes and staring at the water. “They don’t exactly work on people who can just pop into existence wherever they want.”

“Your mother is worried about you,” Crowley says.

Scott crosses his arms. “Did she send you to find me?”

“No, she actually said to leave you be and you’d come back on your own. I wanted to talk to you.”

Scott eyes Crowley. It’s never a good thing when your teacher wants to talk to you in private, and doubly so when said teacher is an actual demon and the King of Hell. “About what?” Scott asks warily.

Crowley finally moves, taking something from his pocket and holding it out to Scott without looking. Scott takes it. A small, black box lies in his palm, the velvet soft on his fingers. Scott cracks the lid open to reveal a silver band with tiny rubies embedded in it, forming a wavy pattern.

“I’m going to ask Melissa to marry me,” Crowley explains. “I wanted to tell you first.”

“What would you do if I say no?” Scott asks, studying the ring. It’s beautiful; just the sort of design Melissa would love.

“Ask her anyways,” Crowley says. “I love her. But I’d rather the two of us not be at odds with each other.”

Scott hands Crowley the box back. “Let me think about it.”

Crowley takes the ring and tucks it into his pocket. “Very well. See you back at camp.” Then he disappears, leaving the beach silent and still again.

Scott digs a few stones from the sand and skips them across the lake, watching the ripples spread. Crowley _wants_ to marry his _mother_. When Scott thinks of the two of them together, he has to admit that he can’t see it. He doesn’t understand what Melissa _sees_ in Crowley, didn’t understand it even back before he knew Crowley was the King of Hell. Scott throws another stone.

But he’s seen the way Melissa smiles at Crowley, when she thinks no one else is looking. He remembers that smile from the time when things were still good with his father, when she still loved the man. After he broke her heart, Scott thought he would never see that smile again.

But now it’s back.

Out of stones, Stiles stripes down to his underwear and dives into the lake, letting the cold water envelop him. He swims down, down, down, until a darkness envelops him that even his werewolf eyes can’t pierce.

But at the same time, Crowley will break Melissa’s heart. How can he not? He’s the _King of Hell_. Those years after Scott’s father left were some of the worst in Scott’s life, and he’s had a lot of really, really bad years. Scott doesn’t want to see his mother go through all that again.

Scott surfaces for air, spraying water from his mouth. He sighs as he floats there. He knows what he has to do.

So Scott paddles back to shore and finds a sunny patch of grass near the trees to dry off in, stretching himself out. The droplets tickle as they run down his sides. Once he’s dry, he puts his clothes on and makes his way back to the campsite, moving slowly through the forest.

When he breaks out of the trees, he sees that the campsite has been set up, the tents put together, wood stacked in the fire pit, and the coolers and bags of food on the picnic bench. Melissa and Crowley sit in cloth camping chairs by the empty fire pit, their fingers laced together.

Scott takes a deep breath and walks up to them. “Can I talk to you?” he says to Crowley.

“Sure.” The demon squeezes Melissa’s hand and then stands and follows Scott a little ways away from the campsite. “What is it?” If Scott didn’t know better, he’d think Crowley looks a little nervous.

“Propose to her,” Scott says, having to force the words out. “Whatever my mother decides, I’ll go along with.”

Crowley nods. “Thank you.”

“Whatever.”

Crowley begins to turn around, but Scott snaps his arm out and seizes a fistful of the demon’s shirt, yanking him in close. Heat pools in Scott’s eyes as they begin to glow, and his fangs sprout. “If you hurt her, I will send you right back to whatever dark hole you crawled out of.”

“Sure, kid.” Crowley brushes Scott’s hand off. “You poked holes in my favorite shirt.”

Crowley returns to the campfire, and Scott follows soon after, settling into the third chair. “Did you go for a swim?” Melissa asks.

“I went down to the lake,” Scott says. “It hasn’t changed.”

“Not much about this place has,” Melissa agrees. “But other things have.” She smiles at Crowley, and Stiles wants to vomit a little bit.

“I’ve lived a long time,” Crowley says. Scott holds back an eye roll. He senses a monologue coming. “Most of that time was spent as the King of the Crossroads. Make a deal. Grant a desire. Return in ten years to claim the soul so they can be tortured for eternity. Not much changes in Hell. That’s kind of the point. Then the Winchesters came into my life, and things began to change, and not exactly for the better.”

“But you became the King of Hell,” Scott points out.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Probably the worst decision I’ve ever made. I spend all my days either almost dying or solving every other demon’s petty problems. My own form of Hell, I guess. And then I met you.” Crowley looks Melissa in the eyes. She turns a little red. “And for the first time in my very long life, I found myself actually wanting to get out of bed each morning to find out what the day would bring.”

Scott resists the urge to fake barf. Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Crowley?

“And so,” Crowley gets out of his chair and down on the ground, actually kneeling in the dirt before Melissa, pulling the little, velvet box from his pocket. “Melissa McCall, will you marry me?”

Melissa’s hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes begin to water. “Oh, Gus, yes!” She falls out of her chair to wrap Crowley in a hug, kissing him deeply. Scott stands, feeling awkward, and prepares to slide away, but Melissa grabs his leg, and the next thing he knows, he’s being dragged into the hug as well. Scott groans inwardly. Just what he wants. A hug between him, his mother, and his soon to be step-demon.

Melissa releases him eventually, and Scott practically leaps back into his chair, wanting to get as far away as possible from that embrace as possible.

As it grows darker, they cook hot dogs over the fire, and then they move on to roasting marshmallows. Melissa is a s’mores goddess, and she has to teach Crowley to make them properly since he keeps burning all his marshmallows like he’s trying to send them straight to Hell. When Scott was young, they used to tell scary stories around the campfire, but now that their lives are one big scary story, the practice kind of lost its appeal, so instead, the three of them watch the flames, Melissa and Crowley chatting quietly. Scott should take the Pack camping sometime; that would be a good team building exercise.

Scott likes sleeping outdoors. When it’s time for bed, he lies alone in his tent, listening to the crickets chirping and the wind rustling through the leaves. This is why he likes to sleep at Derek’s house; it’s so far out of town that he can hear the woods all around it. It’s peaceful.

* * *

In the morning, Scott is tipped out of bed much earlier than he would like as Melissa unzips his tent from the outside and cries, “Rise and shine, sleepy head!”

Scott groans. His phone tells him its 8:04 in the morning. Unfortunately, there is no urgent Pack matter calling him back to town.

“We’ve got oatmeal!”

Gross. Oatmeal. That’s not exactly what Scott would call an enticing breakfast.

Scott drags himself out of his sleeping bag and through the tent flap into the early morning air which is lit by the chirping of birds. Melissa and Crowley sit around the crackling fire, a silver pot sitting on the portable stove top over the flames.

“Why so early?” Scott groans.

“Things to do!” Melissa practically crows.

Scott stares at the bowl of gloop he’s handed, brown sugar and raisins sprinkled on top as if that’s supposed to make this mess more palatable. He runs his spoon through the oatmeal, lifting a glob up and letting it plop back down again. He sets the bowl aside. Maybe he’ll skip breakfast today.

“I thought you and Gus could go fishing today,” Melissa says, nursing a cup of coffee, one of those camping specific tin mugs with speckles all over it.

“I don’t fish,” Scott and Crowley say at the same time.

“You do today,” Melissa tells them with a grin.

And so Scott and Crowley find themselves out on the lake in a small dinghy an hour later, holding fishing rods as their lures bob in the water. Scott wears a floppy fisherman’s hat, complete with a bajillion different buttons. Crowley incinerated his as soon as they were out of Melissa’s sight, though he refuses to do the same for Scott’s, choosing instead to snort whenever he looks up and sees the horrid thing on Scott’s head.

Scott sighs and shifts on the hard bench, ass aching even though they’ve only been here for ten minutes. “I thought Mom would want to spend the day with you,” he says finally.

Crowley shrugs. “I think she wants us to bond or something.”

“Can we just agree that that’s not going to happen?”

“Sure, Puppy Dog Eyes.”

“I kind of hate you, you know that?”

“I figured.”

Neither of them get even a nibble. Scott earns a sunburn for his troubles, but that’s about it. Crowley just sits under an umbrella he conjured, refusing to share and reading some kind of leather bound tome written in a script Scott doesn’t recognize.

“I’m calling it,” Scott says, throwing his rod to the bottom of the boat in disgust.

“Alright then,” Crowley agrees, giving the oars a pointed look.

“You can’t just magic us back to shore?”

“Wouldn’t that be too easy?” Crowley asks.

Scott wants to smack that smirk off Crowley’s face. Don’t use his own words against him. That’s rude. But he collects the oars and shoves them into the water. It only takes him a few, powerful strokes to get back to shore.

“I’m going to take a hike,” Scott says.

“You don’t need to ask my permission.” Crowley flicks dust from his jacket and makes his umbrella disappear.

“I…wasn’t asking for it?” God, everything Crowley says and does feels like it’s specifically designed to throw Scott off balance. When he looks round, Crowley is gone without a word, leaving Scott alone on the beach.

He rolls his eyes and sets off into the woods, moving in the opposite direction from the campground. He doesn’t have a particular destination in mind, just weaves his way down the narrow deer trails, letting his senses expand.

There’s a curious smell on the wind, drifting in on the breeze from Beacon Hills. It’s faintly rotten, but a dry sort of rot, like bones, mingled with death and a spice Scott doesn’t recognize. He sniffs again, locking it into his wolf’s memory. He’s sure it’s nothing, though; probably just a dead animal left too long in the sun. No need to get worried. Things have been quiet lately. Don’t wreck that.

_(Too quiet)._

_(The other shoe will drop)._

He ignores the thought. The rest of the summer is going to be quiet, and it’s going to be nice, and no one else is going to die.

A wave of sadness stops Scott in his tracks, and he collapses against an oak tree. Boyd. He’s never lost one of his own before. They’ve always managed to scrape through by the skin of their teeth. Scott used to think there was some kind of force protecting them, keeping them from harm. His Alpha powers. Derek’s. Some kind of higher supernatural power looking out for them because they’re the ones trying to protect people from harm.

He knows now how foolish that thought was. Any one of them could die at anytime. It’s just a question of who will be next, because in their lives, someone is always going to be next.

* * *

There are wolves in these woods; the woman can sense an entire Pack of them, living somewhere nearby the cave she has made her temporary home. She actually has muscles now, red ligaments stretched and woven over bone, though still no skin or power. But maybe these wolves can…offer some assistance. Somewhere in this town, there is magic, just the kind she needs to quicken her return. She just needs to find it.


End file.
